Sweet Home Chicago
by wsox2004
Summary: The entire NY newsie system has gone down the tubes. Will a dangerous stranger be able to save the day?
1. The Bet

"Ey, Davey, what time is it?"  
  
"I don't know, does it look like I can afford a watch? Find out for yourself.  
  
"'Scuse me madam, do you have the time?"  
  
" It's 12:15. And I'll take a paper if you don't mind." She responded, handing him some change.  
  
" Thank you mam." He then turned his attentions toward David. " All right, we got us 45 minutes to get to the track and bet on a horse. You ready to head that way?"  
  
"Race you're crazy. It costs more to bet on that goofy horse then it does to buy two- hundred papes. How can you waste your money there all the time?"  
  
"It's all about the excitement of the Race Davey. The chance that you might win. Now come on."  
  
"You know Race, they have places for people like you."  
  
"Oh and where would that--- HEY WATCH IT!" Race yelled at the runt that had distracted him by knocking him to the ground as he turned a corner. Of course, compared to Racetrack, he wasn't a runt, which isn't saying much. He was at least 5'7, which beat Race by a few inches.  
  
"Sorry" The kid mumbled, then kept walking.  
  
Race looked down and saw the sports page of the World lying on the ground. The headline read White Sox Beat Yankees. "At lest he probably bought this from one of our Newsies." He mumbled quietly, deciding what to do. "'Ey kid, you dropped this." He shouted. The boy turned around and saw the paper.  
  
"Yeah, thanks." He said indignantly, grabbing it from him.  
  
"You a Yankees fan, kid?" Race asked.  
  
He smirked, "No, da Chicago White Sox actually." He even pronounced Chicago right, Chicago.  
  
"White Sox, huh? They're good this year, but no where near the Yankees." Race said. David stood back, knowing from Race's character that an argument was brewing between them.  
  
" Yeah, well your Yankees got creamed by my White Sox yesterday." The boy responded.  
  
"It's only the foyst game of the serious Sport, we'll come back. You'll see it in the papes tomorrow. Yankees bury White Sox six feet under ground. What a lovely thought."  
  
"You keep dreaming Yankee boy. The White Sox are going all the way this year."  
  
" You care to make a wager on that?" Race challenged.  
  
"How's that going to work? We don't know each other, don't know where the other person lives, and if we decide to meet tomorrow, the loser just won't show up." The boy rationalized.  
  
"Right Sport, good thinking. Hmmm." Race though, trying to think of a plan. "How 'bout this, we wait outside of the game tonight and ask the people who won as they leave?"  
  
" Great, I'll meet you there tonight, loser buys dinner." The kid agreed.  
  
"All right then, I'll be sure to come hungry."  
  
" You are two of the stupidest people I've ever met." David spoke up, sick of their pathetic testosterone fest. They both glared at him; upset he would insult their competitive attitudes. Dave knew it was time to change the subject fast. "Anyway Race, we need to go if you want to make it to the track on time."  
  
Race gave him a disgusted look. "Forget the track you lazy bummer, we gots papes to sell." He replied stalking away, as David followed behind him, leaving the kid to continue on his way. 


	2. Take Me Out To The Ball Game

"My word, it's cold out here. I thought summers in New York were supposed to be hot!" The three boys that had met earlier were crouched down near a brick wall, waiting for the Yankees White Sox game to end.  
  
"What do you expect? It's nighttime and it's already started drizzling'. I think a storm's coming any minute. You expected to cook an egg on the street?" Race said sarcastically before blowing air into his pale hands to warm them. "Anyway, I can tell you're not really liking New York. I assume from your accent and choice of base ball team that that you're a Chicago boy?"  
  
"I am. I just got here a few weeks ago. And I don't have an accent." The boy responded.  
  
"Right. So why did you leave the lovely state of Illinois anyway? You get sick of the smell of cattle?" He asked.  
  
"Ha, no nothing like that, though you can hear mooing when you pass the slaughter houses. I guess I just needed a change." He sighed, crossing his arms for warmth.  
  
"You traveled thousands of miles, to another state, for just a change?" David asked, now curious. "There's got to be something else."  
  
" You guys are Newsies, right?" The boy asked  
  
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Race responded.  
  
"I saw a hole bunch of papers in your hands when I met you earlier. Plus you mentioned to David that you were off to sell papers." He got back to the subject at hand. "Now I don't know about New York newsies, but in Chicago the saying of my Newsies was 'Don't ask, don't tell.' Now I don't know if that's how it works here, but that's what I go by. My past is unimportant classified information."  
  
" I can accept that." David said. "But I would like to know your name at least."  
  
"Come on Davey, ain't you been payin' attention at all. He's a Newsie. His name is Sport."  
  
Sport gave Race a smile of thanks for the statement. He was excepting him for what he is, not what he once was. The Chicago Newsie had died when Sport had left the city, and he was thankful for that. The past had never been worth remembering for him. Sport looked up, "Hey, I think I hear booing from the stadium, I don't think your Yankees are doing to well." Race looked at a clock near the park. It read 9:30. He started sweating (not literally of course, because it was cold out.) hoping that this boy didn't have expensive taste. He only had a little money on him. Five minutes later, people started walking out of the game.  
  
"Excuse me sir." Sport said, walking up to a random man in a Yankees hat. "Who won the game?"  
  
"The D*** White Sox won my two." He said angrily before walking off.  
  
"Ha, take that Race. I won."  
  
"Yeah, right kid. So where do ya wanna go eat?" He asked.  
  
"Ehh, just forget it." Sport winked.  
  
"Forget it? You won! Don't you wanna collect on those winnings?"  
  
"Nah, I bet for fun, for pride. Not for money."  
  
"You're crazy kid." It began to pour hard from the sky, soaking they boys. "Well, I know a place we can go get some free food and get out of the rain. Follow me. 


	3. Swing Street

I don't own Newsies, or the song swing street.  
Sapphy, thanx for the reviews.  
  
The boys entered Miss Media Larksin's club. The air was somewhat musty and reeked of cigarette smoke. Sport looked around, liking what he was seeing. It was just the place for a guy like him to blend him. There were lots of pretty girls and booze. The whole party scene had been something he had missed most about Chicago, besides White Sox baseball of course.  
  
He shook his head quickly like a dog trying to dry off from a bath. It had been a long walk to the place, and it had poured the entire way there. Race cringed slightly as water from Sports light brown hair splashed him, then laughed. "Come on kid, I'm we enough already."  
  
"Would you please stop calling me kid? I'm probably not that much younger then you."  
  
"Sorry kid. How old is you anyways?" Race laughed.  
  
"I'm uh, fifteen."  
  
Race gave him a strange look. "You don't sound to sure of yourself their kid." Sport opened his mouth to defend himself, but Race stopped him. "Shh, Medda's about to perform. Sport looked up, seeing a good-looking woman on stage. She began to sing an older song.  
  
It's raining sorrow  
And nothing but bad news  
You know I've had it up to here  
Living with these blues  
But I won't let it get me down  
It's not the only game in town  
In my mind  
I'm going to swing street.  
  
Sport looked at the women, amazed by both her voice and her song. She seemed to be singing just for him that night.  
  
I'm a dreamer  
On a rough road  
And I need to hear the music once again  
When there's nothing but bad news  
I've got a way to beat the blues  
In my mind  
I'm going to swing street  
  
Sport listened; hoping the song would never end. Race and David looked over at him, laughing slightly to themselves. They could both remember the first time they had heard Medda sing, knowing she had that kind of affect on people. Sport would be dreaming good dreams tonight.  
  
The song did eventually end, and the boys walked over into the backstage area. They were easily allowed in, the security guards knew most of the newsies, and everyone everywhere seemed to know Racetrack. The waited back stage for Medda to come out and greet them. When she did appear, she was all dressed up in pink frills and ruffles.  
  
"Racetrack, David, two of my favorite newsies." She looked over Sport for a second. "And who is this good looking gray eyed boy you bring me?" She smiled, dusting him slightly with her pink feather, an initiation she seemed to have for most newsies she met.  
  
Racetrack gave the proper introductions "Medda, this is Sport. Sport, Medda. The boy comes to us from Chicago."  
  
"Chicago huh?" She giggled. "I have an Uncle living there. He says it's a crazy place to live. Lot's of factory owners cheating their workers and such."  
  
"Yeah, but you get used to it."  
  
"It doesn't sound to different from New York to me." Race said.  
  
"Except we have less corn here." David added. Sport jokingly punched him lightly in the stomach.  
  
"Well if you boys are hungry, go to the bar and tell 'em Medda said to let you get what ever you want. I'll be out in a minute to make sure he does." The newsies went out and got food. They ate until they where full before Race decided it was time to go back to the lodging house.  
  
"Hey, Sport, where you been sleepin' these last few weeks." Race asked.  
  
He didn't want to respond. He'd been sleeping in any alley or park he could find, hoping that the police wouldn't catch him and send him to an orphanage. "Umm, I've been finding places." He said. He had always been a bad liar. He felt guilty doing it anyway.  
  
"Well, if you can't find a place tonight, we got room at the newsies lodging house. Two of our guys left to go work in a factory. Said the pay was better. So if you wanna come with me."  
  
Sport didn't hesitate. The most comfortable sleep he had had in a long while was on the train ride to Manhattan. "Yeah, sure. I'm there." "Great. You can even go sell with us tomorrow if you want." Race told him.  
  
Sport smiled. He was happy to have something familiar to hang onto. And nothing came easier to him then selling papers. 


	4. Truth be Known

AN- The newsies that left were just two random extras. We'll call them Sleepy and Dopey. Oh, and sorry about all those type-O's in the last chapter. Yikes! Oh, and tell me if you like this twist in plot at all. I'm not sure if it's good.  
  
"Well, here we is Sport. The newsies lodging house. It ain't much, but it's home sweet home." Race announced as they walked in the door. They had left David off to go home alone.  
  
Sport smiled. "It reminds me of sweet home Chicago." The two boys signed in with Kloppman before heading upstairs to find some nice warm beds. Jack, who was currently brushing his teeth, stopped them.  
  
"'Eya Race, who's ya friend?" He asked, spitting some toothpaste on Race's shirt.  
  
"Wash ya mouth out ya bum!" Race replied, wiping off his shirt with a disgusted look on his face.  
  
"I think that's what I'm doing right now." He said. Then turned toward the sink to spit.  
  
"Anyway, this is the kid I was telling you about. I'm calling him Sport."  
  
"Oh, so this is the white sox fan? " Jack smiled. "Well, welcome to the Manhattan newsies, Sport.  
  
"Hey, I gotta go tell Blink about the game. Think you show Sport the ropes for me?" Race asked him.  
  
"Yeah sure thing Race." As soon as Race had walked away, Jack pulled Sport close enough to whisper. "'Ey Bird. What took you so long to get here? I was worried you had gotten killed in the streets."  
  
"Nah, I just got really lost. You gave me some bad directions in that letter you sent to my bruder. Besides my train was a day late. I wasn't able to meet you like we planned."  
  
"So you couldn't have just asked someone for directions to the Manhattan newsie lodging house?"  
  
"And done what? Just strolled in here, demanding to see the great Jack Kelly? I don't think that would have looked too good. We needed the meeting to look a little less awkward."  
  
"And this will be your bunk." Jack raised his volume, trying to make their secret conversation look natural. Then he whispered again. "So how'd you get hooked up with Racetrack anyways. He said you ran into him. I knew it was you when he said you made a bet on the White Sox."  
  
"Well, actually I had been following him for a couple of blocks. I've been stalking a few of your boys lately. I wanted to make sure they were one of you newsies. I couldn't remember what paper you sold for, and I had tossed your letters a while ago. So I waited until I distinctly heard one of them say something about you. Race had mentioned that you owed him a quarter from an old gamble, so I knew he must have known you. So I purposely ran into him, dropped the World's sports page, that I was so lucky to have been carrying, and the rest, as they say, is history."  
  
"You're a genius Sport. A bit on an overachiever, but a genius none the less. You went through all that trouble."  
  
"Just to make sure our meeting was perfect and believable." Sport had cut him off. "I kinda felt guilty lying to those boys though. It's not in my character."  
  
"I don't care about your character, I just hope your genius can help me. The Manhattan newsies are in trouble. 


	5. Murder

"100 papes" Jack said, taking his share. The boys were at the distribution office getting ready for another day of carrying the banner.  
  
"50 papes" Racetrack said, after making small talk.  
  
"100 papes." Sport picked up his load and sat down by Race and Jack.  
  
"Anything good this morning?" Race asked Jack.  
  
"Race, you ask me that every single day. When have I ever answered you, ya bum?"  
  
"I dunno." Race picked up his papers, shaking Jack's comment off. "Well, let's get going. There are papers to be sold and bets to be made." The large group of newsies walked off to the front gate.  
  
"Heya Sport, how's about youse sell with me taday?" Jack asked the boy.  
  
"Yeah, sure thing Jack." The two walked off towards the square. "So Jack, what's the trouble with the Manhattan newsies?." Sport asked when they were away from the other newsies.  
  
"Hold on," Jack said as he pulled him into a near by ally so no one would hear their conversation. "It all started about two months ago, exactly one month after the famous strike ended. Our allies, Brooklyn, were having some internal trouble with there leadership. There was a guy named Crystal that was challenging the current leader, Spot Conlon's, authority. Spot had taken ill for about two weeks, and Crystal saw his chance. He and his friend Porkey killed by stabbing him and pushing him off the Brooklyn Bridge. His body was found floating down the Brooklyn river the next day." Jack said, with a tear in his eye.  
  
"Are you allright?" He asked Jack.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine" He said, going on. "Anyway, now the guy in charge wants to take over the rest of the newsies. He's got an ally in the Bronx leader, which leaves us Midtown, Harlem, and Queens. The problem is, Brooklyn and the Bronx are the two largest and toughest groups of newsies there is. I've got some spys in Brooklyn, kids who loved Spot Conlon. In the Bronx I got nothin'."  
  
"Alright, I understand. What I don't understand is why you needed this Chicago newsie to come all the way to New York to solve this. I mean, what can I do that you can't do?  
  
"Did yer bruder not tell you anything? I need someone other then Davey to organize and plan this whole thing. He may be able to organize a strike, but he could never plan attacks or soak nobody. I can't do it because it's way too personal for me. With my sidekick Spot gone, I don't know what to do. Manhattan and Brooklyn have always fought together, never against each other. Besides, I'm eighteen now, and I've gotta be leaving the newsies soon. So I wrote your bruder Tony, since he's the leader of south Chicago. I asked if he could send someone to help. Since I knew him when he lived up here, he promised to send me you. 'Said the police were after you in Chicago, and you needed a place to hide out anyway. He told me you were vicious and cut throat and wanted for murder." Sport cringed at the mention of this. Jack didn't notice and carried on, "I told him that was exactly what we needed. But now that I see you, you don't seem to be all he made you out to be."  
  
Sport sighed, "Well, he told you the truth. I'm vicious and cut throat when I have to be, but I don't like to be. And yes, I am wanted for murder."  
  
"Really, this I gotta hear." Jack leaned in to listen.  
  
"Well, I'm not telling you. It's not something I care to remember right now. Besides, what's important right now is the Manhattan newsies." Jack's pride was slightly bruised by Sport's statement, but he ignored it and listened. "First what we gotta do is get some spy's in the Bronx." 


	6. The Bodygaurd

"So have we got everything in order?" Sport asked Jack. They had spent their entire day selling papers. They were done now, and were sitting back in the lodging house. Knowing the importance and secrecy of the matter, Kloppman had let them use his room to plan.  
  
"Yeah, we're gonna send some of the less noticed newsies to the Bronx. I think we said we wanted Mush and Sam to go there. They're gonna act like bruders that got kicked out of their home by an abusive father. Hopefully the Bronx will take them in, and they'll get some information for us.  
  
Sport continued for him, "Meanwhile, we won't let any more newsies into the Manhattan gang, no matter how distressed they look. And the only people we leak information to is David, Racetrack, Boots, and Kid Blink, since they've been newsies the longest. Well, except for David, but I doubt he's a spy. Anyway, we'll call this our planning committee. They'll be the only ones to know that you arranged my arrival here. From now on I'll try to blend in and not act like a leader of any sort."  
  
"But what'll we do if Brooklyn attacks while we wait?"  
  
"Don't worry. My guess is Brooklyn isn't gonna attack outright. They're gonna go after you. Which is why I will be serving as your personal bodyguard. But you might want to write some kind of statement leaving someone in charge, just in case... well, you know.  
  
"Right. Well, I guess I gotta decide who'll be leader next." Jack was nervous, but he refused to let his voice show it. "I was gonna have you take over for me when I turned nineteen, but it I put you in charge now, none of the newsies will trust you. Maybe I'll put David as leader, and Racetrack as second in command. That way if David doesn't work out, there's a replacement. But if David does become leader, you've gotta protect him with everything ya got. He's got a family ya know."  
  
"Don't worry, he's in good hands. Well, I think that's it. It's probably time to get down stairs now. I need some sleep."  
  
"Yeah, and Kloppman is gonna want his room back."  
  
"Goodnight Jack."  
  
"'Night Bird."  
  
"Hey, you might want to lay of that Bird thing. Bird is who I was. Sport is who I am. Besides, you'll confuse the other newsies."  
  
"Yeah, you're right. 'Night Bir. I mean, Sport."  
  
Sport just laughed. "Goodnight Cowboy." 


	7. Sweet Mother of Pearl

AN- Thank you so much Wand, Pbuttercup, and especially Sapphy. Your reviews keep me writing. Or, at least publishing. Anywho, if anyone is reading this, please review, even if it's criticism. Tell me how to improve, or at least let me know you're reading the story.  
  
This chapter is short, boring, but a necessary evil.  
  
I hurt my foot after my course concert on Wend, so now I'm limping around like Crutchy. My daddy let me use his cain for awhile, which made me feel like Spot. It's very pathetic when you're happy you got hurt because now you're like a newsie. Anyway, on with the story.  
  
Mush lay on the ground in an ally in the Bronx. He acted as though he was passed out as Sam pretended to be trying to wake him up. Any minute now Chase Gordon would walk down the ally to the local restaurant for lunch. Mush went through the plan in his head. He and Sam had arranged what they were going to say ahead of time.  
  
"Here he comes." whispered the ten year old red head into Mush's ear. Then, more audibly he said, "Jake, Jake wake up! Please. It's me Eric. Please wake up! Excuse me, sir?" He asked as Chase walked by, "Could ya please help. My brother is passed out and I can't get him to wake up."  
  
Chase, being the kind-hearted boy that he was, stopped to see what he could do. "All right, what's the trouble here?" He asked.  
  
"Well, my daddy was hitting him, then we ran out of the house and, and he just passed out here." Sam spit out between fake sobs.  
  
"All right, well let's help him up." They hoisted Mush up and tried to drag him down the street to the restaurant Chase was going too. When they arrived outside, Chase ran in, grabbed a glass of water and poured it on Mush's face. Mush cringed and pretended to come to.  
  
"Sweet mother of pearl." He mumbled sitting up. Eric and Chase snickered.  
  
"Do you kids have a place to stay, uh, Eric, right?" He asked Sam.  
  
"Yeah, it's Eric, but no, we don't have anywhere to stay."  
  
"All right, then you'll come to the Bronx lodging house. We could use a few good newsies in a time like this." 


	8. Bird of Prey

AN- I just realized I made a few White sox mistakes. I should have called them the White Stockings. They were shortened to the White Sox in 1904. Sorry I took so long to get this chapter up.  
  
"All right, now that everything is in order, the last thing we need to discuss is Mush and Sam. Is everything going as planned with them?" Sport asked, leading a meeting of the newsies that were let in on all of the secrets. Sport, Jack, David, Ractrack, Boots, and Kid Blink were all having dinner in a corner a Tibby's. They had been very surprised when Jack first told them that Sport wasn't who they thought he was, especially Racetrack, but they had gotten used to the idea, and were now willing to take his advice. Actually, they were willing to take anyone's advice due to the current situation.  
  
"Everything is going as ya planned it Sport. I watched Chase take Sam and Mush into the Bronx lodging house. It's up to them now." Kid Blink stated.  
  
"Good. So now all that's left is to celebrate the White Stockings win against the Baltimore Orioles. We're going all the way this year." Sport leaned back in his chair and took a drink from his glass.  
  
"Care to place a bet on that?" Racetrack asked leaning forward. Sport was about to respond when a younger boy ran in the door. The kid's shirt was torn, and he was crying and panting. His eye also seemed to be swelling a bit.  
  
"Hey, Stumble, what happened to you?" Jack Kelly asked as he got up from his seat to check out the kids eye."  
  
"Some kid asked me to bring him to you. I told him no, because I remembered you giving that order on how's we ain't gonna have no more new editions to the Manhattan newsies." Stumble took a breath, trying to get the story out without fainting. "He told me I betta tell him where you is, or he'd kill me. But I didn't, and he soaked me." Jack took all of this in, remaining calm. He was about to get more information on this guy when Sport interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"Where did you see this guy?" He demanded his face beginning to turn a light shade of red.  
  
"Down in the ally by Mcluskie's bar. Do you know where that is?" He did, he had slept in it on one of his first nights in Manhattan.  
  
"Yeah." He said quietly as he ran full speed out the door and down to the ally before anyone could even think to follow him, though they did try once they realized what he was going to do.  
  
Jack stopped them before they left. "Everyone sidown. You're just gonna make things worse for us. The guy that beat up Stumble probably isn't even there anymore. Everyone remain here, except for David and Boots. I need some brains and brawn in case I get attacked." The three took off at a slower pace, (Boots wasn't very fast due to his height) to make sure Sport didn't get into any trouble.  
  
---------------------In the Ally-------------------------------  
  
Sport wasn't alone. He could feel it. Someone was hiding near by. He could almost sense their breath on his neck, but when he turned around, no one was there. He attempted to slow his breathing down and make it quiet. His chest was still heaving from the long run to the ally. He kept his eyes keen and aware, hoping, wishing, and longing for a fight. His natural instincts had taken over, and he was no longer a man, but a lion, a bear, a bird of prey, stalking and waiting for the kill. His eyes searched like a hawk's, looking for a way to get an upper hand, since he knew he didn't have the element of surprise on his side.  
  
He suddenly felt a sharp pain in the side of his head. He turned around to see a medium height; skinny boy had just punched him. Sport tried to punch the boy in the face, but he ducked and got hit in the stomach instead. Instead of howling in pain, Sport was able to fake a right, then hit him with a left upper hook. The boy stumbled back, and Sport took this opportunity to grab the knife he always kept safely stowed in his right sock. The boy tried to come at him again, but this time Sport was ready. He tried to shove the blade into the boy's stomach, but he saw it, and dodged but ended up loosing his balance and landing on the ground near his feet. Sport kicked the boy in the head, stunning him, and was about ready to shove the knife into his throat when he felt something hard slap the side of his leg. He fell the ground, still ready to plunge the knife into the boy. He suddenly heard someone call from behind him.  
  
"No, Sport, don't kill him, he's already dead!" Sport blinked blood out of his eye, attempting to tame his animalistic instincts. He could tell the boy in front of him was living breathing flesh, definitely not dead.  
  
"What are you talking about Jack?" He asked, his voice strangely low and calm. He refused to take his eyes off the victim for even a second.  
  
"That's Spot Conlon. That's the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. The one who's supposed to be dead. 


	9. Age is just a number

" What the?" Sport got off Spot but still kept his knife in his hand. "I thought he was supposed to be dead!" He said in a voice of anger caused by his adrenaline rush.  
  
"He is. Well he was. I mean Obviously he's not. OH I DON'T KNOW!" Dave stuttered.  
  
"For once the walking mouth doesn't know something. It's amazing." Spot said, spitting some blood from his mouth. "I hate to spoil the fun Jackey- Boy ,cut could you'se tell your little friend here to put his knife away."  
  
"Oh yeah. Sorry Spot." He extended his hand to help him up. Instead of taking it Spot pulled himself up off the ground.  
  
"So why ain't you'se dead Spot?" Jack asked, ignoring Spot's show of pride and rudeness.  
  
"It's a long story. When Crystal and Porkey attacked me they tried to stab me. From a distance it probably appeared like they did. But I put my arm down and the knife slipped into it, not my stomach." Spot showed off the hole in his arm as proof. "Anyway, they assumed I was dying and they through me in the river. I floated and got out aways down. I woulda come strait to the Manhattan lodging house right away, but I was worried that there may have been spys there. I figured it was to my advantage to let Crystal think I was dead. I need the element of surprise."  
  
"Jack said they found your body." Sport stated.  
  
"Yeah well, you can't believe everything you hear." Spot glared at him.  
  
"So if this great Brooklyn leader is here why the hell am I?"  
  
"Well, it seems as if your new job is to get him back to his position as leader." Dave said, snickering inside at the position they had put Sport in. Help the man that had just attacked him. The irony.  
  
"What? Who is this kid Jack? Why is he gonna help me? And what's with the stupid accent?" Spot spouted off question after question.  
  
"Look, I'm in no mood for this." Sport interrupted. "My name is Kevin Masterson. They call me Sport. You may have heard of me as the infamous Bird. I'm going to help you because I sure didn't come half way across the country for no reason at all. AND I DON'T HAVE AN ACCENT! YOU DO!"  
  
Jack laughed under his breath. "Yeah. What he said. Well, except for the accent part." Sport glared at him.  
  
"So this is the famous Bird. You come all the way from Chicago just to help some poor newsies? I doubt it. YA know, I heard about what you did. To a little kid none the less. The story goes you took a 12 year old kid and cut his insides out."  
  
Sport reached out and put Spot against the wall with his hand around his throat. "Like you said Spot" He whispered "You can't believe everything ya hear." He let go of Spot and proceeded to walk away. Without turning back he yelled. "The kid was 9, not 12." 


End file.
